For growing names the weekly fcribbler lies,
To growing wealth the dedicator flies;
From ev'ry room defcends the painted face,
That hung the bright palladium of the place;
And smoak'd in kitchens, or in auctions fold,
To better features yields the frame of gold;
For now no more we trace in ev'ry line
Heroick worth, benevolence divine:
The form distorted juftifies the fall,
And deteftation rids th' indignant wall.
But will not Britain hear the last appeal,
Sign her foes doom, or guard her fav'rites zeal?
Thro' Freedom's fons no more remonftrance rings,
Degrading nobles and controuling kings;
Our fupple tribes reprefs their patriot throats,
And ask no queftions but the price of votes ;
With weekly libels and feptennial ale,
Their wifh is fuil to riot and to rail.
In full-blown dignity, fee Wolfey stand, Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand : To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs confign, Thro' him the rays of regal bounty fhine, Turn'd by his nod the ftream of honour flows,
His fmile alone fecurity beftows:
Still to new heights his reftlefs wishes tow'r,
Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r;
Till conqueft unrefifted ceas'd to please,
And rights fubmitted, left him none to feize.
At length his fov'reign frowns-the train of ftate
Mark the keen glance, and watch the fign to hate.
Where-e'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye,
His fuppliants fcorn him, and his followers fly;
Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, with maladies opprefs'd,
He feeks the refuge of monaftick reft.
Grief aids disease, remember'd folly ftings,
And his laft fighs reproach the faith of kings.
Speak thou, whofe thoughts at humble peace repine,
Shall Wolfey's wealth, with Wolfey's end, be thine?
Or liv'st thou now, with fafer pride content,
The wifeft juftice on the banks of Trent?
For why did Wolfey, near the fteeps of fate,
On weak foundations raise th' enormous weight?
Why but to fink beneath misfortune's blow,
With louder ruin to the gulphs below?
What gave great Villiers to th' affaffin's knife, And fix'd disease on Harley's clofing life?
What murder'd Wentworth, and what exil'd Hyde,
By kings protected, and to kings ally'd?
What but their with indulg'd in courts to fhine,
And pow'r too great to keep, or to refign?
When first the college rolls receive his name,
The young enthufiaft quits his eafe for fame;
Refiftless burns the fever of renown,
Caught from the strong contagion of the gown:
O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread,
And Bacon's manfion trembles o'er his head.
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth,
And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth!
There is a tradition, that the ftudy of friar Bacon, built on an arch over the bridge, will fall, when a man greater than Bacon fhall pass under it.
Yet, fhould thy foul indulge the gen'rous heat
Till captive Science yeilds her laft retreat;
Should Reafon guide thee with her brigheft ray,
And pour on mifty Doubt refiftless day;
Should no falfe kindness lure to loose delight,
Nor praife relax, nor difficulty fright;
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain,
And Sloth effufe her opiate fumes in vain;
Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart;
Should no disease thy torpid veins invade,
Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy fhade
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,
Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee:
Deign on the paffing world to turn thine eyes,
And paufe awhile from Learning, to be wife;
There mark what ills the fcholar's life affail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the gaol.
See nations, flowly wife and meanly just,
To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.
Nor deem, when Learning her laft prize bestows,
The glitt'ring eminence exempt from foes;
See, when the vulgar 'scapes, defpis'd or aw’d,
Rebellion's vengeful talons feize on Laud.
From meaner minds, tho' fmaller fines content
The plunder'd palace, or fequefter'd rent;
Mark'd out by dang'rous parts, he meets the fhock,
And fatal i earning leads him to the block:
Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep,
But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and fleep.
The* feftal blazes, the triumphal show,
The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe,
The fenate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale,
With force refiftlefs o'er the brave prevail.
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Afia whirl'd,
For fuch the fteady Romans fhook the world;
For fuch in diftant lands the Britons fhine,
And ftain with blood the Danube or the Rhine;
This pow'r has praife, that virtue fcarce can warm,
Till Fame fupplies the univerfal charm.
Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game,
Where wafted nations raife a fingle name,
And mortgag'd states their grandfires wreaths regret, From age to age in everlasting debt;
Wreaths which at laft the dear-bought right convey To ruft on medals, or on ftones decay.
On what foundation ftands the warrior's pride,
How juft his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;
A frame of adamant, a foul of fire,
No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain;
No joys to him pacific fceptres yield,
War founds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold furrounding kings their pow'rs combine,
And one capitulate, and one refign;
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;
"Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain,
"On Moscow's walls till Gothick standards fly,
"And all be mine beneath the polar fky."
The march begins in military ftate,
And nations on his eye fufpended wait;
Stern Famine guards the folitary coaft,
And Winter barricades the realms of Froft;
He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay;→
Hide, blufhing Glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
And fhews his miferies in diftant lands;
Condemn'd a needy fupplicant to wait,
While ladies interpofe, and flaves debate.
But did not Chance at length her error mend?
Did no fubverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hoftile millions prefs him to the ground?
His fall was deftin'd to a barren ftrand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;
He left the name, at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a tale,
All times their fcenes of pompous woes afford,
From Perfia's tyrant, to Bavaria's lord.
In gay hoftility, and barb'rous pride,
With half mankind embattled at his fide,
Great Xerxes comes to feize the certain prey,
And ftarves exhaufted regions in his way;
Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er,
Till counted myriads footh his pride no more;
Fresh praife is try'd till madness fires his mind,
The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind;
New pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are still bestow'd,
Till rude refiftance lops the fpreading god;
|